Unwell
by Exilo
Summary: Gospel never wanted to go to war. He never wanted to fight. But he's here now, just trying to survive an endless flood of Locust. Trying to save what few people he can. A tale of death and war. Complete and done. Read and review please. Give it a chance.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1_

Every culture has its boogeymen, its monsters, its things that go bump in the night. Humans are sight oriented from birth. Humans lack the keen eyesight found in predatory animals. They live in the light, where they can see and survive. Of course they fear what they cannot see. Of course they fear the dark. And when they realize there is nothing to fear, they make monsters so that they have an excuse to fear.

The Locust had started as a myth, a legend. Parents told their kids to go to bed. And the kids, being kids, naturally refused. So the parent's got very solemn and their face grew pale, something that every parents knows how to do. And their parent leaned very close to their child, and told them about the monsters that lived under their bed and under the streets. These monsters couldn't be fought, they couldn't be reasoned with, and they wouldn't flee from the light like the shadows. The only thing a young boy could hope for was to stay absolutely quiet, hidden safe beneath his bed sheets. Gospel was ten the last time his parent's told him that story. That was the last thing they ever said to him. Not "goodnight", not "I love you", but "stay quiet or the monsters will get you. Stay quiet or the Locust will come out and gobble you up." He had stayed quiet that whole night, but the monsters still came.

Gospel thought of his Lancer with a certain amount of affection. Solidly built, high rate of fire, good accuracy even at a distance. And if things got too close, there was always the chainsaw bayonet. Standard CQC didn't work on monsters. Hulking builds and a perfect willingness to fight tooth and nail didn't translate to civilized combat. Their thick skin meant most combat knives didn't puncture anything important, no matter how many times they were stabbed they just kept pushing forward. So the COG converted the old model Lancers from the Pendulum Wars, slapped a chainsaw on its belly, gave it sights.

In his early days, when he was still so eager to fight, he had carved a notch into the handle for each Locust he killed, but he had quickly stopped that, as eventually his beloved Lancer would have been whittled to nothing. He used to take pride in how many Locust he killed, used to brag about it with the other grunts, but it was no real achievement. The Locust, at least the Drones, were fools. They knew to take cover and sweep and flank, but they lacked critical thinking or reasoning. They knew to kill the humans, but nothing beyond that.

Unfortunately, that's all they needed at the moment.

"Watch the flank," Lopez shouted, chewing a cigarette between thick lips. At 6'4" and weighing close to three hundred pounds even without his armor, he didn't need the Lancer's bayonet to survive Locust intimacy. If one were to believe the wild rumors that the rookies in basic recited like a prayer, then Lopez had been known to tear Drone's arms off and beat them to death with it. Of course, that was just a rumor.

What little cover they had was composed of four cars hastily pushed together, a Gear at each. A long stretch of road separated the dozens, what seemed like hundreds, of emergence holes from them, just far enough that land a grenade inside was impossible. The plan was simple: pour as many bullets down the stretch as possible, kill as many as they could before they were overwhelmed. Not a great plan. But they needed time.

Gospel knew he had killed at least twenty three Locust. He had seen twenty three heads pop or chests explode. Lopez had slaughtered at least twice that, with his weapon or with his bare hands. Foley and Simmons had gotten ten or twelve kills each. And yet the Horde just kept coming. At this rate, they would run out of ammunition before targets.

It took Gospel a moment to register the order, "Watch the flank," but as he squeezed heavily on the trigger, he turned to see Simmons on the ground. The cause of death was a sniper's bullet, shot between his brown eyes, the hollow, smoking hole the only evidence that he hadn't just decided to lay down in the middle of a fire fight. A momentary break in the hail of bullets was all the Locust needed. The quarter of the horde that Simmons' had been keeping at bay now had a free run. They were tripping and clawing to make it over the barricade. Gospel revved the chainsaw, bringing it over his head and the sharp teeth down through the back of a Drone, who had been so eager he had leapt onto the hood of the car, but found himself momentarily stuck. The Drone screamed and spazed as the teeth tore through its thick skin. Gospel lifted the chainsaw out of the flesh and thrust, tearing the stomach of a second Drone open.

"Sir, we're getting overwhelmed. We should fall back into the hospital," Foley shouted. He wasn't ready to die here. A veteran yet still just a kid, blonde hair and blue eyes, a pretty boy. A surfer type. He and his friends thought the war would be fun. His wife had just had a baby, and for the life of him he couldn't understand why they were risking their life for a bunch of Stranded who would sooner spit on them than lend a hand. In the time it took him to complain, a Wretch had leapt over the barricade. He lifted his Lancer to slice the thing in two, but the Wretch was already upon him, clawing and swiping, trying to break through the heavy armor. He split it nicely down the middle. Bits and pieces splashed on the ground, blood gushed into his eyes and blinded him as a Drone came forward. From point blank range, it fired a burst into Foley's guts, the thick bullets punching through his armor and digging deep.

It took three bullets to distract the Drone. He didn't have the chance to kill it before it revved its chainsaw and charged, more interested in this fresh, live target than its bleeding one. It was using a Lancer, probably scrounged from a COG it had killed. Gospel revved his own bayonet, and the grating teeth locked in a shower of sparks.

Gospel was not a large man. He wasn't small, but the Drone could overpower him with relative ease. And it did, Gospel felt his knees buckle as the Drone pushed harder and harder, the spinning teeth growing closer and closer to his face. This Drone was a fool though. Gospel shifted to his left, and the Drone stumbled off balance. With his free hand, Gospel drew the Boltok pistol from the holster on his belt. Pressing the muzzle where the Drone's left ear should have been, he squeezed.

He sprayed a burst into the advancing horde and, disobeying orders, Gospel rushed to Foley's side. Blood sizzled in the cold winter air, and somehow he was still alive, still aiming squeezing the trigger, putting down Drones in the endless Horde. Even over the bullets, his mantra of "Fuck, fuck, fuck," burned Gospel's ears.

"Kappa," Lopez shouted. "The Ravens are in flight. Fall back to the hospital."

Gospel couldn't stabilize Foley in the middle of the field. Instead, he handed him his Lancer so that he held one in each hand, emptying round after round, and took Foley by the collar. Lopez was on the stairs giving suppressive fire, as Gospel dragged Foley into the relative safety of the thick, heavy doors.

Foley collapsed. Gospel took a moment to put a fresh clip into his Lancer and strap it to his back, before dragging Foley to one of the tables. The nice thing about Stranded's buildings were they were already heavily fortified. Windows were already boarded up so thick that not even the most determined Drone could get through. The doors were reinforced, and there was always something large and heavy further the barricade. The army outside would be kept at bay for a while at least.

"Control," Lopez shouted. "Control, do you copy."

"Control here," said the soft, gentle voice in Gospel's ear. He didn't have the freedom to push a finger to his ear, but still heard her just fine. It always seemed like women were the handlers. Probably something psychological, it was easier to take orders from a woman than another man, or a soldier was more eager to die for the fairer sex.

"This is Sergeant Enrique Lopez. We need immediate pick up. One of ours is dead, one is critically wounded. Why the hell didn't the Ravens wait for us?"

"I am sorry sergeant. All Ravens are presently in use for Operation Lifeboat. Further, that area is too hot to land in."

Lopez smashed a fist into the wall. "Then what do you suggest we do? I have lost one of my squad and one is on the brink of death. He cannot be moved. The last Raven out was supposed to wait for us. What's the matter, did the Stranded get to jumpy?"

The good thing about digging in at a hospital is that there was so much at hand. Almost all drugs had already been ransacked, but he found a vial of morphine in the back of a cabinet. A scalpel and syringe. Bandages, lace, needles. He took the flask out of Foley's pocket and used the alcohol to sterilize the tools before digging into the blood soaked work.

"You will either have to clear the LZ or move to a lighter location. The soonest a Raven can get to you is thirty minutes."

"We will be dead in thirty minutes!" He sighed, lighting a fresh cigarette.

"The Ravens are going to drop off their passengers, then turn around, you can cut the time by moving in their direction. Our maps say that there is a network of sewers just beneath the hospital. Head east, I'll keep you posted on the Raven's position."

"Go underground to avoid the Locust. Yeah, why didn't I think of that?"

"The Locust are attacking the hospital, believing that you are in there. If you sneak under, you should be able to put some distance between you and them before they realize. I am sorry sergeant, but that is the best that I can offer."

Gospel was trying to remove the last bullet from Foley's gut so that he could suture the wound and stop the bleeding. He must have twitched a nerve, Foley's arm uncurled, his fist caught Gospel in the chest. Even through the armor, he felt the blow. The force knocked him into the farthest wall, and it took him a moment to crawl out of the sizeable hole his impact made.

Lopez sighed. "Keep me informed," he growled, before closing the channel. "Gospel?"

Gospel pushed two fingers to Foley's neck, shaking his head remorsefully. He yanked the dog tags away, dropping them into a pocket, before taking any additional ammunition, canteen, and rations. He saluted. Lopez cocked his head, ordering his subordinate to follow.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

It smelled horrible, to say the least. Walking through waist deep sewage and shit. Holding his weapons over his head so that the water wouldn't creep through the cracks and damage the firing mechanism, his muscles had gone stiff. But there weren't any Locust, so that was something. Gospel had long tied his handkerchief around his nose in an attempt to filter the smell. It helped only a little.

"Kappa squad, this is Control."

"Kappa squad here, what about the pick up?"

"I'm sorry sergeant, I haven't any updates on the Ravens position. However, we have reports that Sigma squad is in the area, with a large number of Stranded. You are to rendezvous with them."

Lopez growled. "Then what, the Stranded scurry onto the Raven while we're left to rot?"

"That is an order sergeant."

Lopez rumbled something. "Where are they?"

"There is a Stranded settlement a klick forward."

"Kappa out."

Gospel's flashlight caught the glow of the sewer's ladder, and he guided the light up to the manhole at the top. Lopez nodded. "I'm sick of this shit too. It's quiet up there. We can cover the klick faster outside than down here."

Lopez never put his Gnasher shotgun down. Gospel often wondered if he slept with it, loaded and nestled in his arms. How could he possibly avoid misfires? Instead of putting it on his back like a normal person would, he held it tightly in his right hand, while his left hand and legs worked at climbing the ladder. He more or less leapt along, and finally reaching the top, he pushed the manhole aside and climbed out. Gospel didn't believe he could perform the same feat. He put his Lancer on his back and climbed, rolling out of the manhole and to his feet.

"Area clear," Lopez said. "Gospel, you're in the sky."

Gospel nodded, slowly walking to the nearby building, one of the few that were relatively intact. He leapt, and caught hold of the fire escape, before hoisting himself up. The roof was clear of hostiles. Gospel took out his Longshot, moving to the roof's edge and taking position.

The street, like every other street in this forsaken city, was desolate. Fires that always burned, cars that couldn't drive, buildings crumbled around him, and not for the first time he was wary that the ground he stood under may open up and he would plumet to his death. Lopez took cover behind one of the disabled cars, and peeked out slightly.

Gospel didn't know how the Locust always seemed to know where they were. Maybe they could smell humans, but given their subterranean lives that seemed unlikely. Maybe they had taken a radio off a fallen Gear, but if that were true, they probably would have been ambushed in the sewers, rather than out in the street. The most logical explanation was simply that, given the Locust's numbers, they were every where, always. A sniper's bullet hit Lopez square in the chest and knocked him onto his back. He wasn't crippled, he rolled to his side into cover before he could be shot again. Gospel followed the orange trail back to its source; the foolish sniper who didn't duck as he jammed another shell into his rifle. Gospel aimed for the bumpy skin and roundness of the albino head, then the red glow of the goggles before pulling the trigger. He didn't have to see the head pop to know the sniper no longer posed a threat.

On the ground, Lopez had stood back up and was pouring shell after shell into the Drones who had popped out of some nook of the street. He scanned the streets for an emergence hole, but didn't see any. They had probably been waiting in the surrounding buildings. Locust were everywhere, like roaches, every shadow hid one.

Lopez wouldn't need any help with the Drones. Shell after shell exploded out, and when they got to close he swung the butt into their skulls, cracking their heads back and their necks at a painful angle. When his Gnasher was out of shells, he dropped it, and began crushing and beating the Drones with his bare hands. He wouldn't need Gospel's help with them, but he would have trouble with the Flamer who was shuffling and wobbling down the street. Even a slug right between the eyes wouldn't put the monster down, their skulls were just too thick. It would take at least five precise shots, and in that time it would be upon Lopez. But the fuel tank on their back, that was such a beautiful target, a glare catching the sun and giving him a perfect view to aim. A spiral of flame burst out of the crack, before the tank, the Flamer, and the five Drones who were surrounding it exploded in a show of orange.

Lopez stuffed shells back into his shotgun and twirled it on a finger, before lifting it to his eye and pumping fresh shells into the approaching horde. Gospel was calm and careful, noting the Locust who stayed behind, hiding and providing cover fire. From his vantage point, even as they hid in cover, he could pop each's head off with a well placed bullet. One kill he was particularly proud of was when he shot a crouching Drone in the back. The bullet passed all the way through to reach the tender roundness on the other side.

The last Locust died when Lopez dropped one of his gigantic boots onto its head. He gave a triumphant bellow before stuffing fresh shells into shotgun. Twenty three Locust in all, less than a sliver of their army. Lopez's voice came into Gospel's ear. "Control, how much farther?"

"Two blocks forward and a left."

"Kappa out. Gospel, stay in the sky."

Gospel nodded, but it seemed doubtful that Lopez saw. Never the less, he hurried through the street, taking cover behind each stack of sandbags or damaged car, peeking over to be sure there were no hostiles. Gospel hurried as well. He leapt from building to building, having long grown accustomed to the bulkiness of his armor. Only once did his foot slip, and he nearly fell down to the alleyway. At the last moment he caught the roof's ledge and dangled helplessly. He threw his rifle onto the roof, then gripped the ledge with both hands, hoisting himself up.

"Never seen anyone do a chin up with full armor," Lopez said. "Except for Cole Train."

Gospel was a bit embarrassed that his commanding officer should see such an ungraceful move, but pushed it from his mind. He followed his officer, bouncing along the roofs, then took up position at the ledge, examining the Stranded outpost.

Twenty foot high walls surrounded the complex, crafted from anything the Stranded could get a hold of. They looked hastily crafted, as if they should fall apart if a strong enough wind blew, but were built so thick and sturdy, they would keep even the most determined Drones out. The snipers and turrets could mow through wave after wave. Of course a Brumak could get through, but the Locust wouldn't waste one of them to simply kill a few rebels. At least he hoped.

At the moment, it wasn't the Locust that Gospel had to be concerned with. The Stranded weren't exactly friendly towards the COG, and with good reason. Even the ones who had taken part in Operation Lifeboat weren't exactly loyal to the government, they just wanted the best chance to survive, three meals and a warm bed. They would have joined the Locust if the Locust offered. They weren't soldiers, just children with guns.

Lopez kept his radio on, so from his perch, Gospel could hear the banter.

"Who the fuck are you?" the Stranded posted at the wall demanded. He was armed with a Hammerburst rifle, which wasn't surprising, they littered the ground like snowflakes in winter. He didn't hold it like a soldier, at the ready. It was held at his side, the muzzle level with his ankle, his arm loosely out of socket. It was his two comrades, each stationed in a Troika Turret and just itching to kill something, that Gospel watched. He could kill one, but it was the 1.4 seconds that he required to reload his rifle, in that time Lopez would be cut down. He would have to judge the situation, if necessary kill one before any shots were fired. Hopefully, the second wouldn't have the response time, and the additional threat could be removed.

"Sergeant Enrique Lopez of Kappa squad. I'm here to help hold off the Locust until we can evacuate. I understand that some of my comrades are in the walls."

The Stranded with the Hammerburst spat on the ground, not aiming for Lopez but not attempting to miss him either. "Open the gates," he shouted, and Gospel watched as his commanding officer walked through the barricade. He hadn't been ordered to leave his perch, so he put his back against the ledge and his rifle in his lap.

"Gospel," came Lopez's voice in his ear. He was speaking in a whisper. "Stay put until the Raven's come. I came alone. Lopez out."

It was unfair really, while the sergeant got to sleep and eat in the relative comfort of a fortified base, he would be left to on the roof with the chilly draft and only his last MRE and stale water. He brushed the hair out of his eyes, and thought about cutting it with his combat knife. He hadn't really had the opportunity to get a proper haircut, and he was ashamed to say he did look like a girl, with his small physique and shoulder length, silver hair. Most of all, he was bored. He didn't like acting as sharpshooter, but Martinez was killed the first day of the evacuation, and Lopez had picked up the blood caked rifle, shoved it into Gospel's chest, and gave a low grunt.

"Gospel?" That wasn't Lopez's voice in his ear. It was Major Downey's, Sigma squad's commander. Why couldn't Gospel stay in Sigma squad, he liked it so much better. "I would recognize that obnoxious silence anywhere. Lopez told me he's got you in the crow's nest. Well, I'm pulling rank. Get your bony albino ass down here in five minutes or you're pulling latrine duty. Downey out."

Gospel couldn't help but smile ear to ear, as he strapped his rifle to his back and began feverishly searching for a fire escape. There would be hell to pay tomorrow, after they rode the King Raven to safety and he was given his new assignment. Lopez would still be his CO, and Lopez would be pissed. But tomorrow was a long ways away.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

"How the fuck are you little mute freak?" Major Downey wasn't the biggest Gear to ever wear the armor. He wasn't the strongest. But it was entirely possible he was the kindest. While so many were stern and bitter for no other reason than its what they felt was expected of them in such a situation, he was boisterous and jolly. Always fair and level headed, never growing too fearful in the heat of battle or allowing his rank to blind him. Even a soldier with a history like Gospel's wasn't treated unfairly. Gospel gave a slight smile in response, something rare for him, and Downey seemed to accept this, smacking him a little painfully on the back.

"Boys and girls," Downey bellowed. Every Stranded within the compound and possibly some of the Locust beneath turned towards him. "This here is Sergeant Lopez and Private Chaplin."

The Stranded exchanged confused glances, before returning to their duties.

"Giving us names serves a purpose," Downey explained. "See, they think we are nothing but suits of armor. Those stupid helmets we're all supposed to wear doesn't help matters, we all look like toy soldiers. We show em that we aren't just robots, and they're more likely to listen to us. These aren't soldiers remember, they don't know the chain of command, don't have an ounce of respect in them. Just don't say anything stupid."

Gospel nodded, ignoring the joke.

"We lost Davey boy," he said, tone suddenly somber. "Some Drone was hiding behind a corner and when he passed, it got him with one of our Lancers. Fucking blindspots on the helmets, I tried to get him to take it off but he was a stubborn little ass. Stay away from Arnold, alright, he's not taking it well. Yeah, I know that you don't start the shit, but just don't let him. Can you do that for me? Thanks G."

So that made two people that Gospel had to avoid: Lopez, since he would be sore that Gospel was down here instead of on the roof, and Arnold. Big, mean, pissed off Arnold. The compound wasn't the largest that the Stranded have ever built, but it was still large, housing about a hundred people in its walls, and stretched several square blocks. It should have been easy to avoid two people, who's massive armors made them stick out amongst the rag wearing civilians. Gospel was hungry, and found a Stranded who was handing out meals: a few vegetables and a slice of meat. He seemed hesitant to feed a COG, but eventually relented when Gospel traded him his last MRE. Food that never expired was appealing, even if it tasted revolting.

He was just starting on his meal when an overly gruff voice asked, "Where's Foley?"

Without looking at the speaker, Gospel took out the deceased private's dog tags and offered them up. Then he felt something around his neck, and a grip lift him off the ground.

"When I ask you a question, you answer me. Don't pull any of this mime bullshit. Now tell me something, freak, why is Foley dead, but you're still here, taking up food and ammo?"

"Don't let him." That's what Major Downey had told him, those had been Gospel's orders. And he had been perfectly willing to wait until the King Raven's came back to fly them all home and not even make contact with another human being. But Arnold wanted to start something. He was mad that he had lost David. Or he was mad that David had been killed and not him. Or he was mad that they hadn't been killed together in some sort of beautiful Hollywood scene, where the two stood back to back, facing down a small horde, having just enough time to glance at each other before they were torn limb from limb.

Gospel had lost people in this war too, and he was in no mood to serve as a vent for a pissed off private. He pulled out his pistol and pushed it to Arnold's eye. Arnold didn't immediately let him go, and Gospel honestly considered applying pressure to the trigger. A clenching of the fist, and this annoyance would be dealt with. The gunshot would echo through the streets but be passed off as nothing. Arnold's body would go over the wall, and Gospel would play dumb when Downey asked about him. Before Gospel could make a decision, Arnold huffed and growled, and dropped the private, off to hate the innocent somewhere else.

Lopez was a little easier. It seemed he lived his life with the sole purpose of fulfilling the stereotype of the hard ass, loner sergeant. Gospel found him in one of the living spaces, which was one of the few buildings that was relatively intact to keep out the frosty winter air, polishing Gnasher, looking it over, cleaning it. Gospel waited in the shadows outside the door.

"Control?" he demanded. "Where the fuck are the Ravens?"

"This is Control. The Ravens are on route to your location. However, we are not sure that we will be able to transport the entire population. Major Downey's initial report put the number at 117. We have lost several Ravens already, and we have other civilian areas to evacuate."

"Control, the Locust know we are here. If this is the last Stranded outpost in the city, then this is the last thing for them to attack. We are going to die if we do not get out of here."

"I am sorry sergeant, but we don't have the resources to save everyone. The Locust have only grown more brazen in their attacks as of late. You aren't the only people being evacuated."

"Who would guess that setting off a weapon of mass destruction up their asses would piss them off?"

"Four Ravens should arrive within the hour sergeant. They should be able to carry fifteen people each. Sixty people, provided none of them are shot down."

"You just said we have over a hundred Stranded."

"Then, sergeant, you will have to decide who should be left behind."

No matter what, her voice was always calm, always level, not raising or dropping to fit the discussion. Never once had Gospel heard her shout or panic. But it was easy for her, safe inside her fortress, giving orders to the Gears who risked life and limb every day.

"Control out."

The sergeant was quiet for a while, just sitting there with his shotgun in his lap. "Gospel," he shouted. The private stepped out of the shadows of the doorway and into the light. Lopez chuckled. "I figured there was a fifty/fifty chance you were standing there. Thanks for not letting me look like an idiot. I assume you heard? Go find the major. Tell him what happened."

The Stranded didn't take it too well, but they were used to being betrayed by their governments. There were no riots, or unrest, and the Gears weren't pelted with rocks or feces. The Stranded simply watched with quiet acceptance, nodded every now and then. Some stormed off but most stayed in the square.

"The seats will go to youths, ages 14 to 25 in good health. Additional seats will go to children. Anything left, we draw lots," Lopez said.

"And what of you soldiers?" shouted a voice from the center of the crowd.

"One of us each will accompany you in the bird should you run into any trouble."

"You're going to take up one of our seats?" demanded a voice from the left. "You're not even going to stay and fight the battle that you brought to us?"

"We did not bring this fight to you," Lopez assured. "The Locust brought this fight to you. The Locust continue to terrorize humanity on every front. There is a very good chance that the Ravens will come under fire. The Locust can't resist slaughtering a sweet little goose full of civilians."

Lopez didn't mention how starved the COG was for man power. He didn't mention why they had started Operation Lifeboat (it wasn't out of the goodness of their heart). Why four trained Gears were more valuable than this entire Stranded population. Why four seats that were meant for civilians were going to soldiers. Gospel had no desire to listen to the Q&A that would follow, and wandered off.

What was now a hospital had once been an apartment building with a lobby. By its raised roof and the peeling, decorative wallpaper, a building for the wealthy. All furniture had long been removed, replaced with countless white beds, hanging tarps to offer some semblance of privacy.

Just entering the door, Gospel's ears were assaulted with the wail of pain that belonged to the malnourished man. His arms were restrained at the wrists to the bed, but his legs flailed and kicked and bucked in a fashion more like an animal than a man. His chest, starting at the base of his ribs to the start of his pubic hair, was cut open, the skin peeled back and held still with several clamps. A woman was tending to him, trying to remove several pieces of shrapnel, but she was fairing poorly. She struggled to keep his bucks pinned, and remove the tiny metal shards from his guts without further wounding him. Things were made easier when Gospel put his full weight on the man's ankles, allowing her to remove each splinter, dropping them into a plastic cup on the table. It was an hour of that, struggling with the man, who was stronger than his wraith like form would imply, so the woman could pluck each shiny, bloodied bit out, then stitch the skin back together.

"You're okay," she said, petting the man's head. He had stopped struggling and settled into a continuous low moan, whining and bleeding despite her best efforts. "The bird will come soon and you'll be fine. We'll all be fine."

"It won't come for me," the man said, forcing a smile.

"Of course it will. Maybe not this time, but there'll be more."

He smiled again. "I'm not of breeding age. I'm not healthy."

"They're going to help us all."

"No, they won't. Promise me something though, tell me you'll be on the first bird. Promise me."

"I don't make promises," she smiled. Gospel handed her a cup of clean water. She took it without much recognition of him, and put it to the man's lips, helping him to drink it down. "I know how hard it is, but try to get some sleep. If I can find any pain killers I'll give them to you."

She petted his head once more, before wiping her hands of the excess blood. The caked on crimson would only come off after scrubbing, but it would be a waste of water.

"You act like you've done this before," she said. A hand took hold of the dog tags around Gospel's throat, and yanked so hard and so suddenly, he was pulled down to her height. "Private Kenneth Chaplin." She sighed, looking down and dropping the tags. "Thank you, for the help. I'm Shana. Shana Purviance. You can call me Jinx, everyone does. Kind of a bad nickname for a doctor, huh?"

Gospel nodded. She was pretty, tan skinned and black hair, worn behind a tied handkerchief, and wide open hazel eyes. Jeans and a white collared shirt that was a size too big.

"I'm not coming with you guys," she said calmly. "You may have no problem with leaving people to die, but I've been caring for these people since _you_ nuked us. I'm not going to leave them now, not until the last bird out."

The Locust did take prisoners, but the things they did to them, most people would choice death. He wasn't sure if the Snub pistol on her belt was for the Locust, or a final mercy for the patients she cared so deeply for. It wasn't easy to look into your fellow man's eyes and pull the trigger. But when a Lancer had gutted a squad mate, and his stomach was on the outside, bullets whizzing over head and mashing into the cover. When that friend took him by the collar and demanded he finish it. Gospel didn't have a lot of options.

"You could say something," she snapped. "I know you Gears all think you're some hot shit, you think you are the most bad ass mother fuckers ever to grace the planet. Fuck you, I've been surviving fifteen years without training, without a fancy Lancer, without some bulletproof monkey suit."

"It's nothing personal," Lopez said, coming behind them. "Gospel doesn't talk."

"Why is that?" she asked, passing a gaze to the private, who gave an embarrassed nod.

"Well, some say he's being a dick. Some say damage to the vocal cords. Arnold says he's faking it, and he just likes giving off that bad ass, silent loner thing. Isn't that right G?"

Gospel shook his head, and turned to go see if his services were required in the hospital.

The sergeant waited until he was out of earshot to continue. "Truth is, he hasn't talked since Emergence Day."

"We all lost people," Jinx spat.

"To the Locust, of course. Gospel killed his ma and pa."

Jinx looked at him.

"I knew his father, Colonel Anthony Chaplin. Brilliant mind, fought with him in the Pendulum Wars. The things we did though, kind of fucked with him. I used to go to his house every morning, and found Mrs. Chaplin passed out drunk on couch. Little Kenneth, a bloodied nose, a black eye, cuts and scrapes on his arms, welts and bruises on his back. 'Boys will boys,' Anthony said, with a laugh, smacking little Kenneth's back in a playful gesture, just hard enough that he cringed."

"And you didn't do anything?"

"What was I supposed to do? Mommy wasn't going to tell anyone. Daddy wasn't going to tell anyone. Kenneth wasn't going to tell anyone. I went there one day and found a lot of blood. Daddy got cut ear to ear. Mommy was on the kitchen floor with a dozen or so knives in her chest and gut. And little Kenneth was in the corner, crying."

Jinx stood there, eye twitching in a nervous fashion.

"I didn't have to do much, that was E-day, and the government had more to worry than some little crackpot who killed his parents. What do you do with a homicidal kiddie? Enlistment of course."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You were wondering why he doesn't talk. I wouldn't want you to think he's being impolite."


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

Somehow, whether from intercepted transmission or instinct, the Locust knew that soon over half of their prey would be evacuated. They would be coming with everything they had, day or night, rain or shine. The Stranded knew this, and every able bodied man with a rifle was positioned on the walls, waiting for the first Emergence hole to pop out of the ground. Gospel took up residence at the left side of the west wall, Lopez was on the east, Downey on the south, and Arnold at the north. Occasionally one of the Stranded asked Gospel a question. When he didn't answer, they either returned to gazing through the sights or muttered a curse, usually him a fascist, egotistical pig.

When the ground exploded five meters forward, the west wall didn't open fire, because Gospel had lifted his hand. They wouldn't admit it, but having veteran Gears helped with morale. They listened to Gospel, even though their fingers itches as the frothing horde came charging forward. They weren't soldiers, so at any distance, their aim would be pathetic, to say the least. Each armed with a Hammerburst or Lancer that could punch holes through chest and pop heads off shoulders, they could only slaughter the wave at a proper range. He waited until they were just a meter away to drop his hand and let them open fire.

At such a close range, it was impossible to miss. Even when some of the Stranded lost their balls and hid behind cover, pointing their weapons over the edge and spraying wildly, Locust fell by the droves. Body after body crumbled, empty shells crunched under Gospel's boots as he shifted from foot to foot. Only minutes passed before there were so many corpses at the walls that the Locust could climb over and attack the bridge, frothing hungrily. Gospel revved his Lancer, the sharp teeth cutting into the nearest Locust, tearing it from left shoulder to hip. A bullet caught him in the chest. He gritted his teeth and pressed forward, slicing his saw through the next Locust and the next, blood slicking his Lancer's grip. The Stranded had retreated off the walls, and as ordered, they had dropped their Ink grenades. The only thing was they hadn't done is wait until Gospel was off the wall as well. The air grew foul and thick. The sounds of clawing and howls of the Locust was overwhelming. He smacked a Frag onto the closet Locust's belly before leaping down to the ground and scurrying to the cover, turning every few steps to be sure that no Locust had emerged from the inky cloud.

The entire siege had lasted all of five minutes. Vicious, scrapping Locust cutting down the Stranded even as their own numbers thinned. But there were so many Locust. The Stranded had done what they could, they had followed orders, and because of that, not all of them were dead. But many, many Stranded had fallen in that altercation. The good news was that now there were few enough people that everyone could evacuate.

"Command, we need those Ravens," Lopez shouted.

"Ravens are en route, they should arrive within five minutes."

Downey sighed, then shouted, "Get all the wounded to the center, they go in the birds first. The Locust?"

"Looks like we scared them off," Arnold said.

"Locust don't get scared. Keep up the patrols. We have to hold out for five minutes."

The bullet in Gospel's gut grinded against bone with each breath, but it was a nuisance, not a threat, and it would be ridiculous to strip out of his armor to suture the wound, especially as a furious gust wiped up and the four King Ravens descended from of the sky like angelic valkyries plucking warrior soldiers from the ruins. Massive armor transports, but one well placed explosive and it would crumble into a flaming pile of wreckage.

"Everyone on," Downey shouted.

Where were the Locust? None of this made any sense. One attack? One five minute assault and the Drones would just tuck tail? Gospel actually wished he had a rifle so he could see into the distant sniper spots.

"Get in!"

Gospel backed away towards the hum of the Raven, aim sweeping from side to side. He felt something take him by the collar and hoist him into the cab, and he sat in the doorway, still looking for the attack. Only when they lifted off the ground, rising higher and higher to clear the buildings, did he understand why no Drones had come. Everyone else realized too.

"Brumak!" Downey shouted. His voice wasn't even in the radio, he just screamed so loud Gospel heard it over the spinning rotor blades and the hail of fire from the turret on the giant's back. Gospel heard the explosion to, as Downey's Raven detonated.

"Evasive maneuvers. All units, evasive maneuvers."

The mini gun had been removed to compensate more people, so at the moment, all Gospel had was the Lancer, Boltok pistol, and a few grenades strapped to his belt. And the Brumak was pissed, guns blazing and spinning furiously, trying to get the King Ravens that were spinning and struggling to get out of the line of fire, dodging between buildings to reach the open area of the surrounding forest, where they could make a beeline to safety. The Brumak charged through the streets. Gospel hung out the sides, firing clip after clip, but no bullets penetrated the giant's thick skin, and the riders were safely at the back.

The second King Raven was hit in the tail, and spun helpless before landing in the density of the forest, and though the other two had gotten out of range, the Brumak shuffled and charged along. At this rate, there would be no survivors. The Brumak wouldn't stop and the Raven's couldn't flee fast enough.

Gospel pulled on a parachute, pulled off his dog tags and handed them to one of a Stranded, an elderly man. If not for the raid, if his friends didn't fall, he wouldn't have been permitted to ride the great bird to freedom. The man took the dog tags, not really understanding what was happening. Even when Gospel leapt out of the Raven, he just stared dumbly.

The private didn't really think how stupid an idea this was until the air batted at his face, and he watched as the Brumak charged, and was fairly certain that he was going to die. But to do nothing meant he was going to die, and there was a chance that at least the last two birds would make it to safety. He actually thought of the woman, Jinx, and wondered if she was on the other bird. She wasn't on his, but there was the other one that was still speeding away. And the world needed people like her more than people like him.

He watched the Brumak approach, and he yanked the pull string. The drag yanked him so hard, it felt like his stomach was going to come out of his throat. And he was still falling fast, the Brumak charging, approaching where he'd be landing, and he actually thought that this may work.

Technically he landed on the Brumak's head, but the speed at which the monster was running meant he very quickly tumbled off the perch. He extended a hand and caught the bumpy skin, while his parachute trailed down over the Brumak's face. The Brumak roared, blinded now, and thrashed madly. A single shot from his pistol blew off one of the Drone's head. Three shots killed the other. A chainsaw to the back of the neck opened a large enough gash that Gospel could stuff two grenades beneath the skin before leaping off the Brumak and to the ground.

Everything hurt. That bullet wound in his gut ached. He had to crawl to cover, afraid that the Brumak would fall back and end up squishing him, but it fell forward, its massive frame shaking the ground. The vibrations so intense Gospel fell flat on his stomach.

"Gospel! Gospel answer me." He had never heard Lopez sound worried, lest of all, about him. Lopez was that kind of soldier. Always business, save when he was pissed, then he was all fire and brimstone. But he was never worried, not in the heat of battle, not when they were being overwhelmed.

He barely had the strength to lift his fingers to his ear and let out a deep breath.

"Gospel, you are one fucking crazy little fucktard. By fuck, what the fuck is the matter with you? You just killed a fucking Brumak with a fucking parachute. I've never seen anyone do that without a fucking tank."

He sighed again, putting his head back down, resting it on the cool earth. He really wanted to sleep more than anything. He didn't even care if an emergence hole popped up right next to him. If a Berserker came out with certain burnings that only a man could satisfy. He was so tired and his insides were burning, and he just wanted to sleep.

"Gospel, we can't turn the birds around. God knows how many more Locust are in the area. We have to get the civies who are left out of the hot zone. Dig in, I'll be back as soon as I can be. The second bird that was shot down, only the tail was hit. That was Arnold's. Check for survivors."

"Uhhh."

"If there is anyone that can do it, it's you. Be careful. And good luck."

It was still a long while before Gospel stood up, holding his belly. He looked around, and seeing no signs of Locust coming, took the time to struggled out of his chest plate. Before anything, he needed to suture the wound.

The needle stung as he pushed it through the skin, and burned as he pulled the string tight. In and out, in and out. No sedative, nothing sterilized. Even when he was done, the wound ached worse than it had before the surgery.

There was a GPS in every Gear's suit, it allowed squad mates and Control to keep an eye on everyone. He checked his GPS, and learned that at the very least Arnold's body was to the east. The trees were too high for him to see the smoke from the wreckage climbing towards the sky, but he was sure the Locust could see it, and there was a good chance they would get there first.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

Gospel didn't immediately make his presence known. He lowered to a knee and used his Lancer's sights to focus on the crash. He smiled when he saw the pretty woman, Jinx, still alive, still tending to her wounded. Like an angel in a time of horror, staying calm and protecting her hurt. Thirteen people had been on the copter. Eight bodies lay cold and stiff on the ground, a shred of cloth covering their twisted faces. One was unconscious, on the ground like the corpses, but his head was propped up and his chest lifted and fell with strained breaths. Gospel wasn't sure if he was happy or annoyed to see Arnold alive and giving orders to the civilians. There was no way that the Locust didn't know about the crash. Hidden somewhat in the brush, Gospel put his head down and fell into a light sleep.

He woke to the sound of gunshots, a slight delay between implying a Hammerburst. That meant Locust. Peeking his head up, he saw the survivors of the crash, now surrounded by ten Locust Drones and, standing nearly seven feet tall and carrying a distinctive bow, what was no doubt a Theron guard. That was the reason Gospel didn't burst out of his hiding place in defense of his fellow man. The Theron were massive creatures, not as large as Boomers but he would gladly go toe to toe with a Boomer, or even a Berserker, rather than one of the guards. Because the guards were smart, and that made them dangerous. He kept his rifle level, peering through the sights, but to engage now would not only kill him, but the civilians and Arnold. It was cowardly to stay hidden, he knew, but it was stupid to attack.

The Theron pointed towards the broken path that they had come from. Jinx shook her head and shouted something that Gospel couldn't make out. She ran to the wounded, unconscious man's side, still groaning and babbling painfully. The Theron tossed her away with a backhand and put a burst from his pistol into the wounded's chest. Then he pointed to the beaten path.

Three of the Drones went first. Then his fellow humans, with their hands behind their head, a Drone between each of them to prevent them from talking. Then the Theron, last, closest to Arnold, who they must have deemed the biggest threat. And then the remaining few four Drones. Keeping a distance of three meters, and staying behind the trees, Gospel followed. Only the Theron would even think to cover the rear, and he was focusing on Arnold.

"What do you want?" Jinx asked. "Why are you doing this? What did we ever do to you?"

"They can't answer you," Arnold said. "They don't speak our language." The Theron guard gave him a stiff blow to the back that caused him to stumble off his feet. "What?" Arnold demanded, turning and shouting at the guard. "What do you want? Why not just put us down? You want us so bad, you can carry us."

The Theron lifted a back hand to brain Arnold, but a bullet in his back caused him to lower his hand and turn, hoisting a Drone in front of him to absorb the remainder of the clip. The now dead Drone's Hammerburst lay on the ground. Arnold dove for it, snatching it up and shoved the butt into the Theron guard, who hardly seemed to notice. A punch into Arnold's gut sent him reeling, pained and gasping for air. The Theron pointed in the direction of the gunshots, and the Drones hurried forward, through the hail of bullets, getting cut down before they reached any distance.

Gospel had been hoping to learn where the Locust's base was, he had hoped to follow them and free his comrades later, without having to engage in a fire fight. But of course Arnold acted like an idiot, Arnold had to act big and tough even to a guard twice his size, and Gospel was forced to engage. He shot down three of the approaching Locust before his clip ran out and he revved his chainsaw, carving one to pieces. He ducked behind a tree as a flurry of bullets attacked him, searching his pocket for an additional clip but finding none. Growling, he pulled out his Boltok pistol and waited for the shots to cease.

The Drones he could deal with, he had already removed half of them from the battle. But he had lost sight of the Theron, and it had ducked and rolled into the cover of the trees. He had to get back to his comrades, and popped out of his cover to fire at one of the approaching Drones. Then he leapt into the open, snatching a discarded Hammerburst off the ground. He didn't stop even as the Drones reloaded and opened fire, pounding shot after shot into him. Fortunately, they lacked the grace for finer shot. He was hit three times, but his armor proved durable this time, and after a moment he had leapt over the Locust's defense. Lifting the rifle, he gave each a burst in the chest.

Arnold was still on the ground, gasping for air, by the time Gospel reached them. Jinx and the two other Stranded were on the ground, hands over their heads as if that could ward off a stray bullet. "The Theron," Arnold wheezed. "Go get the Theron. He ducked into cover. Go kill it before he comes back."

Gospel hated Arnold. Since boot camp, for whatever reason, Arnold had taken every jab, every foul word, every attempt to make Gospel miserable. No real reason or motivation behind the hate, it was just a natural part of life. But Arnold was right. A Theron was too dangerous to leave be. He dropped the Hammerburst on the ground and snatched Arnold's remaining clips, loading his Lancer and following the large, heavy footprints that marked the Theron's path.

Only once had he ever encountered a Theron guard, and that had been with two additional Gears for support, Lopez and the late Martinez. Even then their single plan had been to pump as many rounds into it as their Lancers would allow. Its armor made it dangerous. The ballistic face mask meant attacking the most vulnerable point on the body was useless. It could wield that cursed bow with such ease it was terrifying. And now he was facing it down, with an aching gut and only two spare clips. Hopefully Arnold would recover and bring Jinx and the two others to safety so Gospel wouldn't die completely in vain.

His aim swayed from side to side, grass crunched beneath his boots, and his grenades clanged loosely on his belt. How he ever heard the wind whistle was beyond him, but he did and ducked, and the exploding arrow embedded in the dirt a few feet in front of him. He turned and squeezed heavy on the trigger, putting several bursts into him Theron before the Theron dove behind a tree. Gospel pulled one of the grenades from his belt and threw it, and continued firing as the Theron dove from his cover and ran along the open air.

Still on the ground, he ejected his clip and tried to stuff a new one into the Lancer's belly. But his fervor prevented him from sliding the tight steel in, then as the Theron moved from cover and pulled the elastic wire of his bow to his chest, the barrel jammed. It was what they taught in basic, and yet still veterans made such mistakes from time to time, usually at the worst of times in fact. The Theron fired, and he rolled, as he did smacking the gun until the chambered cleared. He pumped a good few shots into the Theron, who just stood there, taking the whole clip.

He ejected the clip again, and again a shaking hand prevented him from reloading properly. This time however, when the Theron leaned out, he threw his Lancer to the side and drew his Boltok. The Theron, confused by this change in tactics, didn't immediately pull his wire, and Gospel firied all six shells into the Theron's chest, knocking it to its knees. He snatched up his Lancer and revved the blade, and cut through the Theron's armor and flesh, a gush of blood spurting out like a geyser.

Now carrying the Theron's bow on his back, he made his way back to Arnold and the Stranded. Each had a Hammerburst, and several Drones lay dead and strewn about. Arnold yanked the radio from Gospel's ear and put it in his own. "Control? Control?

"What the fuck do you mean we have to go to a fucking factory?

"Fuck that!

"Fine, Kappa out."

Furious, he yanked the radio out and threw it back at Gospel, who caught it replaced it in his ear. "We got new orders. Seems there's an old military base several klicks south of here, with information about the Hammer of Dawn Satellites. Control just found out that the terminals are being activated. We've got to go and stop the Locust, make a copy of the information, and raze the compound so the information can't be accessed again."

"But we're civilians," one of the Stranded shouted. "You can't do this."

"You were taking part in Operation Lifeboat, therefore you're conscripted. Stop whining or I'll shoot you myself. Gospel." He had to chew these next words, "You've been promoted to corporal. You're in charge."

Gospel gave a shocked glance, before chuckling.

"Shut up," Arnold said sharply. "Alright, who the fuck are you people?"

"Jinx," the woman said again.

The Stranded youth, who couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen, said in a voice that struggled to stay brave. "Williams. Billy Williams."

The last Stranded, the one who had complained, said, "Jacob."

"Your orders, sir?" Arnold said, dripping with venom.

Gospel waved a hand, to the south, and started off.

There weren't any additional Locust attacks as they moved through the trees towards the base. Jacob complained, until Arnold picked him up by the collar. No words need be spoken, Jacob simply stopped and sulked and walked along.

"He has every right to talk, fascist," Jinx snapped.

"I will cut you to pieces you little cunt, unless you start moving. I don't like this monkey work anymore than you. But these are the orders, and we are following them."

"We aren't soldiers," Jacob said. "We aren't like you. We can't do this."

"Either you die by the Locust or you die by me. And let me promise something, you will wish it was the Locust."

It was only the click of a pistol that stopped Arnold. Gospel standing like a rock. One hand holding the gargantuan revolver.

"I apologize for my outburst corporal. This is frightening for all of us, even us soldiers have our doubts. But we cannot allow the Locust to learn anything about the Hammer. Just stay behind Gospel and myself, take whatever shots you can." He sighed. "We'll be going in to hot areas. If Gospel or I hold up a fist, that means stop. A flat hand means hit the dirt. Three fingers pointed in a direction, you run in that direction and don't stop until you have good cover. Understand?"

"Yes sir," Billy said. Gospel chuckled. Little soldier boy, he worshiped Arnold, because Arnold didn't get scared. Arnold didn't get scared because David was dead. Arnold didn't fear death because he had nothing else to live for. That made him dangerous, to the Locust and to Gospel.

There weren't any Locust outside the factory. No patrols. No Brumaks or Therons guarding the delicate situation inside. Gospel lifted a clenched fist in the air. Arnold dropped to one knee and lifted his Lancer to scan the surroundings. The Stranded, not instinctively understanding the significance of the gesture, were slower to move. Jinx hit the ground, then Jacob, but Billy just stood there dumbly, until the sniper's round hit him in the left eye, and his whole body collapsed into a heap. Gospel didn't even register that one of his men had fallen. He followed the orange trace to the white bumpy skin, and fired a burst into the sniper's head.

"He's dead," Jinx said, still on her belly, looking to her side at Billy, the kid.


	6. Chapter 6

**This was more than a little disappointing in terms of attention, but hey, what are you going to do. Gears of War is not an easy lore to write for. I just tried to make this as bleak and utterly hopeless as possible, and I think I did manage that. Well, thank you everyone who has been reading. I hope that you have liked. Cookies for reviews.**

_Chapter 6_

Gospel didn't hear her babbles. He picked Jinx up by the collar and dragged her into better cover. Arnold did the same with Jacob. "They know we're here," he said. "We got to hit them now."

Gospel agreed. Three bunched fingers pointed to Jacob, Arnold, and the left flank. Arnold nodded, dragging Jacob along. Jinx was a quick study, she understood what was expected, she followed him, bouncing from cover to cover and stopped firing when he pushed her aim down. Arnold was engaging, shouting and cursing loudly, doing everything he could to get the Locust's attention.

The factory had fallen to decay, and to get in the Locust had demolished an entire wall. There were bits of rubble, some so big they couldn't be climbed over. They made perfect cover. Arnold hid, and poked his weapon out, spraying round after round, not aiming, but once or twice a lucky bullet hit one of the Drones, nothing fatal, but it was knocked to the haunches. The Locust were stupid creatures. They were so easily distracted, and completely forgot about Gospel since Arnold was now shooting back.

Gospel brought his fingers to his lips in a universal gesture of silence, before waving for Jinx to follow. They didn't sprint, but ran hunched over until they were at the walls, pressed against threshold of the factory's main door.

"We can't just leave Jacob," Jinx said.

Gospel pointed to the door.

"But."

He pointed again. He pulled a foot back and kicked the door in, rolling to a bit of cover, a conveyor belt. Of course, the Locust were there, waiting, and wave after wave of bullets vibrated into the steel. Gospel's face was the picture of calm, or perhaps a complete lack of emotion, as he leaned out slightly and put rounds into the Locust, popping out just long enough to put one down before retreating back.

When Jinx came beside him, he guided her rifle's muzzle over the edge. His hand found hers and he aided her in squeezing the trigger. Before long, he had leapt over the cover. Every time a Locust popped its head over the cover, hoping to attack Jinx when she was aiming in a different direction, it was met with a round. When his clip was empty and one of the Locust emerged from the cover, he revved his chainsaw, but a shotgun's burst to the gut was enough to knock him back. It was only Jinx, unloading her Hammerburst, that kept another buckshot from blowing off his head. Her aim was decent, she put bullets into the Drone, distracting him until Gospel could draw his pistol and finish him off. She helped Gospel to his feet, and a hand swept over his stomach, making sure that the armor had absorbed the dozens of little spread shells.

Jinx's hand retracted, embarrassed by the show of worry, a Stranded concerned for a fascist dog, it was disgusting. Gospel opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He settled for a hand on the shoulder and a smile. She really was pretty. A sort of whither in her form, malnourished, a pain in her eyes. Flaws by some people's standards, but they just made her more human. More natural. Her caramel skin. Her ebony hair. The strength to her features.

"Gospel," Arnold's voice called from the radio. "Front is secure, we'll be sweeping around the perimeter. The birds are on route. You've got ten minutes. Find the main control room and make a copy of the files, and if you see any gasoline, be sure to deck the halls."

Gospel sighed, putting his hand down. His Lancer was out of ammo, so he took up a Hammerburst and divided the extra clips between himself and Jinx.

"Sergeant Lopez told me some stuff. About you. About why you don't talk. Is it true. What you did to your parents."

Gospel dragged his left index finger over his throat, maintaining a calm, emotionless expression.

"Good. They had it coming. The world would be a better place if more people were brave like you."

"Maybe," Gospel whispered.

Jinx looked to him a moment, trying to figure out if she had just heard him speak. His mouth didn't move. His stride didn't change. After a few steps he looked back at her and gave a look that asked, "Are you coming?" Sighing, she followed after.

"Gospel, we got multiple Locust. God, there's a lot of them. Find the fucking files and get back out here."

The hallways were crowded. A Locust could set up at the thresholds and pour bullets down the chokepoints. Lacking cover, Gospel and Jinx would be cut down in moments. However, he didn't want to run. There were dangers to running, primarily the ease at being thrown off balance, and if a Berserker was wandering around the factory, he really didn't want to be surprised.

They reached a fork, a left way and a right, and Gospel gave Jinx a questioning look. "Uh…right, I guess," she said.

Gospel took her Hammerburst and looked it over. Seeing nothing wrong with it, he gave it back. He took the radio from his ear and offered it up. "No, what if you need to talk to Arnold." She shook her head. "Sorry."

He showed her how it worked, guiding her fingers to the transmitter, she shivered a bit in his grip. He didn't feel right about abandoning her, but they needed to find the central control room before the Ravens came down, or they were completely overwhelmed.

He wasn't sure if the room with the test tubes and beakers was the main control room, but there were several terminals that glowed brilliantly in the dank, barely lit room, highlighting the forms of the Drones that stood in front of them. They didn't hear the doorway as it opened, and Gospel didn't immediately engage the three; weary of damaging the precious machines. He had two grenades left on his belt. The fragmentation one would destroy the computer. The ink would choke the Drones. Rather than throw it, he rolled it over the ground. The Drones, attracted by the sound rattle of steel rumbling along, turned towards it.

Their first instinct, once the gas had filled the room, was to flee the cramped confines. He waited until all three were out. He bashed his rifle into one of them, and when it stumbled against the wall but didn't fall, he smacked it again. Gospel dropped to one knee, putting rounds into the second Drone, opening its chest in a shower of blood, one stray shot popped open its head. But it was the third one he couldn't handle fast enough, and it lifted its rifle and fired a burst.

Gospel's left arm went limp. He tried to lift his Hammerburst with his right, but another burst in the chest knocked him on his back. Just by chance his eyes gazed behind him, and he saw Jinx, standing there, spraying her entire clip into the confines of the hallway. But by simple volume, the Drone was put down.

"Your shoulder is broken," Jinx explained. "Armor took most of it, but the impact was still there."

Gospel stroked her cheek, as if to confirm she was real. She laughed. "I was nervous, going alone. I turned around after about a minute. Didn't think you would be the one needing saving."

"Thank you," he said.

She smiled again. "So you can talk?"

He shrugged. Tearing her shirt, she fashioned a crude sling and propped his arm up. Gospel held a cloth over his mouth to filter any residual ink as he worked on the computer. The interface was easy, so easy that even Drones could do it. They were already in the process of copying any important files onto several disks, which finished burning after a moment. He gathered them together and put them in a compartment in the gut of his armor where they would be safe. Another few strokes on the keyboard, and the files were wiped, but just for good measure, he attached every fragmentation grenade he could find on the Drone's bodies to the computers. Jinx rushed out of the room, hiding in the hallway with her hands in her ears. Gospel wasn't sure if what he did next was a good idea, but he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, as if the shrapnel could somehow leave the room through the door, change trajectory, travel down the hallway and attack her. But she didn't seem to mind.

"Private Arnold," Jinx said, into her radio. "We have the copy."

"That's great ma'am. I guess I won't be dying in vain."

How, so deep in the compound, could Gospel possibly hear the explosion, feel the explosion, he didn't know, but he did. He went through the hallway, through the doors he had come through. There was no concentrated, strategic jog now. He was running with all his might, like a track star darting down the field. Even with the weight of his armor and that aching in his gut and shoulder, Jinx could barely keep up.

He burst out of the front doors, and seeing a Drone within reach, smashed the Hammerburst into its skull. When it fell, he crushed a boot to its head.

There was a flaming crater of bits and pieces a few steps away. Locust, wounded and burned trying to crawl away. Gospel pumped rounds into them until they lay still. He slowed to a walk, then practically a crawl, but he always pressed forward, towards the smoking hole.

It was something they taught in basic. A devastating tactic that could only be used once. When overwhelmed and about to die, activate whatever grenades you still had only your belt. Go out with a bang, and take as many of the Locust down with you. With the way the battles went, it was a tactic used all too often.

Gospel had never mourned his parent's death. They were horrible people. The things his father did while his mother stood by and watched. They had it coming. But despite his fire and brimstone, his abuse and cruelties, Arnold was a brother in arms. He followed orders and he provided covering fire and applied pressure to wounds. He was a comrade. It was seeing what was left of someone like Arnold, a comrade, a brother, even a brother who had been cruel. A brother who had respected him and followed his orders, a friend, that he understood there was something wrong with him. The war tended to hollow soldiers out, but there was always that smidgeon of humanity that made them feel every death. He felt nothing now.

"God," Jinx said. She felt something, even for this Gear she had only known for a day or two. There was nothing wrong with her.

Gospel placed a hand on her shoulder and pointed to the horizon, to the distant roar of the King Raven chugging through the sky.

"How do you do it?" Jinx asked. "How do you not care?"

She was jealous of him. Perhaps he was better off, the only way to live in a cruel, crazy world was to be cruel and crazy yourself, but how he longed to feel what she was feeling.

"I'm sorry," she said, as if every horror he had ever endured could be traced back to her. She was that kind of person. Gospel wondered if what he was feeling was normal. He'd never really been taught about this. "Do we even have a chance?" she asked. "I mean, look at the Locust. They're a dozen different species, all unified under a single banner. They have been for decades as near as we can tell. And it takes a genocidal act for all of humanity's kingdoms to stand firm together. Even if we win, what will happen after? We'll just go back to fighting each other. Over some new fuel or some new resource or just because we don't like each other. We can do such horrible things to ourselves without a second thought."

Gospel wanted to tell her she was wrong. He wanted to so bad. Abandoning any doubt, he reached forward and embraced this woman he had only known for a few days. Something about her, or perhaps there was something wrong with him.

"Tell me I'm wrong, please."

She hugged him back, allowing his firm, strong arms to hold her tight and keep her safe. Nestled close to his chest. His heartbeat calm even through his armor while hers was speeding up to an unhealthy pace, any moment it would burst out from under her breast.

He wanted to tell her everything he saw in her. He wanted to remind her that she had been perfectly willing to stay behind with her wounded. Given the chance to escape on the great bird to freedom, she would have stayed behind with the people she had so nobly cared for. That she had seen just as many horrors as he had and hadn't been rendered hollow, that she had that kind of strength. He wanted to say so long as there were people like her, there was hope.

"Gospel, we're almost there," Downey said.

They heard the explosion. The King Raven erupted in a torrent of flame, the heaping burning wreckage reduced to nothing even before it hit the ground. A rocket or a nearby Brumak.

Jinx's legs dropped out from under her, and it was only Gospel's support that kept her from hitting the ground flat. He gently eased her down, holding her close as he took out the discs with all the data on the Hammer of Dawn. He cracked each into tiny pieces between his fingers, then cast each fragment in a different direction.

"Did we ever have a chance?" she asked again, much more intimately this time. "I don't want to get caught. I've heard stories about what happens. I don't want to get caught. Don't let them."

Gospel pulled the Boltok pistol out of the holster on his belt. He opened the chamber, and emptied the spend bullets. From his belt, he pulled out two fresh shots, loaded it, and spun the cylinder, pulling the hammer back with his thumb.

"Don't let me go. I think it might hurt."

Gospel nodded, and tenderly kissed her forehead. Such a sweet taste. Such a sweet scent.

"Good bye," she said. She closed her eyes tight as the cold steel bit at her left temple.

Gospel wanted to say good bye as well. He even opened his mouth and exhaled, shaped his lips and tongue, but no noise came out. He settled for another kiss to her forehead. Over her shoulder, he saw the Drones marching quickly to him. He wanted to tell her he loved him. He wanted to so bad.

"Good bye," he managed to whisper, as he held her close.


End file.
